


Calennig

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Hart of Thorn [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Deer Demon!Jack, Like REALLY vague, M/M, Magic, Omega!Rhys, Vaguely Puritan Setting, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Winter has fallen upon the woodlands, and with it, memories of the life Rhys left behind in the village when he bound his life to that of the demon Jack.But perhaps old traditions can be shed of their grim baggage, and imbued with a new life emblematic of the freedom that Rhys has, ironically, gained from entering a damned covenant with the forest's beast.





	Calennig

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically the 12th Day of Requestmas done for me and Tebia's wendigo/deer demon Jack AU! This is a mostly fluff piece but it acts as a small primer for the AU should I ever get the main fic started (hopefully soon!)

Winter fell on the forest with a grace that stole Rhys’ breath away. 

He’d been afraid, at first, when he’d seen the first flutters of snowflake touch upon the patchy ground on one of his evening walks. Memories of frigid blizzards lashing against the walls of his home until he feared the very stones would shatter had whirled through his mind as the first snow had rained upon the forest. The innocent sight had scared him so much that he had abandoned foraging for mushrooms for the night’s stew and retreated back to Jack’s lair, insisting the demon wrap him up in furs and hold his head against his chest so he would not have to see the worsening snow from beyond the thick glass of the windows. 

But when he’d awoken the next morning, grey sunlight still filtered from the outside world, and when he’d dared to take a look at his surroundings he found the snow had stopped, leaving the forest blanketed in sparkling banks of white that glistened like fine crystal in the muted sun. 

Cyrus had adored the snow. Back at the village, Rhys had limited his time outside during the winter, afraid of the child growing sick, but with the demon’s aegis hanging over his child’s head, Rhys felt comfortable allowing Cyrus out into the snow to play. He’d spent many a day during the early winter watching his son roam happily about the grounds around Jack’s lair, building little snowmen and climbing the heavy roots that curled and breached like ancient, petrified snakes out from the fluffy white banks.

As the winter became friendlier, more familiar, Rhys ventured further beyond the immediate periphery of the lair, familiarizing himself once more with the terrain he’d come to know before the snow had fallen. The trees, though wreathed in snow, remained tall and sturdy, their branches dormant but trunks holding strong against the cold. The stream still flowed, its current occasionally breaking apart bits nearly the shoreline that had frozen on the surface. And animals still left their tracks across the scintillating white, every once and awhile appearing to sniff at scant patches of uncovered foliage before tucking back into their burrows.

His walks became daily once more, and he ventured again along his familiar paths. Though small flurries of snow occasionally fell, he had no fear of becoming lost thanks to the establishing caws of Jack’s ravens as they fluttered atop the low-hanging branches in Rhys’ path. He would pet the ones low enough for him to reach, feeding them bits of apples or nuts from his knapsack whenever he took breaks from his walking. The bull raven especially liked Rhys, landing close to him when he stopped and even fluttering in pace as he walked. 

“I won’t get lost, you know,” Rhys chided playfully at the bird, who cawed at him as he brushed past where he’d perched on a low ashen bough. Its right eye was clouded in rheumy blue, occasionally flashing with the same unearthly magic that flourished in Rhys’ iris when he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in a mirrored pond or in the reflection of the lair’s windows. 

It was strange **,** the touch Jack had left upon his body. 

Rhys’ fingers flexed lightly within the confines of his cloak. He knew not whether Jack had given him any magic when he had healed his eye, his arm—those scant tricks of blue of the former, and the cracks of golden flesh in the latter that felt more warm and tender than the rest—seemed to suggest so, though if it did anything tangible Rhys did not yet understand it. 

Perhaps it was like a trap laid for animals—hidden, unknown until it sprung from underneath the snow.

Rhys shifted the woven basket, tucking it into the crook of his elbow beneath the cloak. Sometimes he walked the woods with purpose, looking to forage for herbs and other plants hardy enough for the cold. Other times he did it merely to enjoy the majesty of Jack’s domain, letting the brisk air settle into his lungs and refresh his very soul. 

This particular afternoon, Rhys walked with the former intent, the exhilarationhe felt a pleasant side-effect. 

The air outside was colder than it had been yesterday, last night’s snow still thick upon the ground and the heavy branches of the trees. However, the chill bothered him less than it had before, as he’d pilfered the piles of animal remains still left in the lair after his most recent bout of cleaning, fashioning impromptu sewing needles from some of the pin-bones in order to stitch rabbit furs on the hood and inner lining of his red cloak. The fur protected him from the more biting sting of the cold as he trundled through the snow in search of wood to feed the hearth. The path was shallow enough that he sunk in no further than his ankle, if at all. Dusky foliage poked through the crystals of the snow, berries and leaves heavy with frost like sugary confections. 

His gathering basket was already half full with fallen branches mostly spared the damp of melting ice, but living in the village had taught him that it was far better to gather more than you needed rather than less. 

Jack disliked when Rhys labored like this, and though the omega doubted that the demon would ever allow their hearth to go untended, their lair without warmth, he still insisted on shouldering some of the burden of keeping a house’s comfort. He did not want to simply lay back and grow weak on the demon’s care. 

Though a _little_ bit of spoiling, he could not turn away. Being spoilt by Jack could be _very_ nice. Rhys often found himself giggling at the sheer impiety of his indulgence whenever Jack decided to bring him fresh kills or piles of rich fruit, before carting he and his satisfied belly up to the lair’s more private quarters. 

Rhys’ already pink cheeks blushed deeper at the thought as he forged deeper into the woods in his hunt for more kindling. 

Despite the wild nature of the forest, bolstered with the current cold, Rhys walked with little fear now. Any forest creatures that approached him were friendly, wishing for either food or affection from the omega. And those that may have posed danger to him—wolves or bears or wildcats—kept their distance to shadows loping through the trees, perhaps warded by Jack’s magic and the watchful eyes of his ravens. 

Even spiders, who spun their homes with frosted webs, did so out of Rhys’ path. 

Most worry now melted away, Rhys was now left with only a strange curiosity and nostalgia as he wended between the blue-gray woods, the crisp air occasionally cracked with the the sounds of brittle branches snapping and the twitters of braver songbirds. 

Back at the village, snow might blanket the ground just as thick as it does in the forest. The bell may be ringing to summon the flock to service within the sternwhite walls of the church`. Rhys doesn’t know. Time doesn’t seem to matter much in the forest.

Many things don’t. 

As he turned a gentle bend and looked up ahead he found a fallen tree lain across his usual path, knocked out of its roots sometime during the night. It already sat burdened with snow, its bark sagging off the brittle sapwood in heavy patches. Rhys approached it with a caution one might reserve only for huge, injured beasts, but Rhys has learned better—everything in the forest lives. Everything. 

Nothing moved or twitched as Rhys grew near, however, and after a moment Rhys began to scour the area for loose wood. 

One of the tree’s many branches had snapped off during the fall, now laying a ways away from the main trunk. Rhys turned his head to the side as he glanced down on it, admiring. Its fork formed almost a perfect “Y,” and the tiny twigs sprouting from each arm still bore some tattered leaves, their dry green sprinkled with frost.

It seemed so perfect, so odd amongst the raw beauty of the forest, almost as if man had made it. Rhys wondered at its existence, his knees tensing as he prepared to bend down and retrieve it from its powdered resting place, when a sudden feeling washed over him and sent its current tingling through his body. 

Rhys had grown a sense about Jack’s proximity—whether it was something he had developed on his own or something Jack allowed him to feel, Rhys couldn’t know, but whatever it was it tingled up the back of his spine and settled in the spot at the base of his neck whenever the demon was near. His posture melted like fat on the fire as Jack’s body brushed up against him from behind, hands sliding around his waist to settle palms in their favored placeover his middle.

The unexpected warmth of Jack’s hands still surprised him. Even living in such close quarters with the demon hadn’t quite quelled the years of belief that his village had instilled in him. Of the beast as a cold, shade of a creature that stole the life from humankind to sustain its own. 

He gasped, turning around as the tip of Jack’s claws tickled slightly at his belly. The demon smirked down at him, feathers fluttering about his crown of antlers as the watching ravens flew to land on his broad shoulders. 

Rhys tilted his chin up as one of Jack’s claws trailed up his front and curled against his bobbing throat. Light snow shook from the demon’s horns as he cocked his head, regarding Rhys with the fond amusement his eyes usually held for the omega. 

“My little lost doe, what are you doing?”

Rhys huffed softly, breathing puffing in the air. 

“I’m not lost, I was just…enjoying the scenery.”

Jack’s thumb pressed against the jut of Rhys’ chin, the tip of his claw just barely brushing against the omega’s lips. 

“And there is plenty to enjoy, but the evening comes, and with it, the chill.” Jack hand fell away as he raised his arm, his cloak of fur and feathers fluttering out and offering Rhys shelter. The young omega snorted softly but still tucked himself against Jack’s side as the demon led him back towards the lair. 

“With you around, I hardly think I would ever freeze…I’m not entirely sure you can’t control the temperature, in any case.”

“If I _could_ , then it would be autumn and winter at all times…spring and summer, they sap me of my strength.”

“Really?” Rhys cocked his head at the revelation as Jack walked them back to the lair’s door, the ancient wood creaking inwards as the omega stepped into the warmth of hearth. “I can’t imagine you being less powerful…”

“Well,” Jack’s eyes twinkled with humor as he barred the door shut behind them, “not _much_ less powerful. Never fear.”

“I never do, with you around,” Rhys smiled, shedding his coat and hanging it on a root protruding out from the rough wooden walls. He let out a soft yelp as strong arms suddenly circled about his waist, lifting him up into the demon’s arms with ease. Musty fur rubbed up against Rhys’ cheek as Jack cheerfully cradled him, scenting up and down the omega’s cheek.

“I like when you aren’t weighted down by that cloak. Less layers to deal with.” Rhys flushed as Jack carted him back over to the straw divan, laying him down on the fur coverlet draped over it as he curled his bulk around his mate’s body. 

“You are a _scoundrel_ ,” Rhys tittered as he swatted at where Jack’s curious claws picked at the cord belting his pants. “Is Cyrus asleep?”

“Soundly, in his room,” Jack purred, stroking his fingers idly over Rhys’ crotch, “he wouldn’t wake up, if we were to…”

“Is this why you snatched me from my walk?” Rhys chastised, lacing his fingers with Jack’s exploratory ones, rendering his advances fruitless. Jack’s lips fell slightly, until Rhys reached up and pecked them.

“Later, Jack. For right now, I just wish to enjoy your warmth.”

“You can enjoy it in other ways, you know—“

“ _Hush_ ,” Rhys hissed as he kissed Jack again, peppering the demon’s sculptured face with lips until he conceded to merely lie besides Rhys as the omega rested. 

Silence passed between them as Rhys laid in his mate’s arms, his head rising and falling with the movement of Jack’s chest. The crackle of the hearth mingled with the rumble of Jack’s breathing, providing a soothing hymn meant to soothe Rhys into sleep. 

But even as he rested, Rhys couldn’t help his mind from drifting away from the cozy warmth of the lair and out in the darkening cold. He couldn’t stop dwelling on the fallen branch he’d seen earlier in the forest—half buried in the snow, bark loosened in death and already shedding from the smooth sapwood underneath. It mystified him, picking at old, fond memories. 

Jack tilted his chin to his chest, looking down at him. 

“You are thinking about something.”

“You’re right.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Rhys propped his head up against Jack’s breast, meeting his gaze. 

“I…it’s about human culture. Are you really interested in that?”

“If it’s something interesting to you, then yes.”

“I can’t possibly imagine that silly human traditions would pique the curiosity of anyone as old as you are…”

“ _Hey_. I’m not _that_ old, rosebud.”

“Fine, you are….well-versed? Experienced?”

“ _Hmmph_. There are trees in the forest that have seen more seasons than me…”

“You are sprightly and virile as a hart in spring, Jack. Better?”

The demon puffed out his chest, fur bristling.

“ _Yes_.”

His hands slid down Rhys’ back to settle teasingly on his rear. 

“Does that mean it’s mating season?”

Rhys tensed even as a tingle worked its way up his spine. He shot Jack a stern look, reaching behind himself to move Jack’s hands to his hips, a more harmless position. Jack didn’t try to grab him there again, though his smirk remained as he listened to his mate. 

“S-So, um…back in the village…during the winter…we had these…certain customs to celebrate it…”

“Oh?”

“It….it seems a little silly now…with no calendars to mark it…just foolish human habit…”

“I’ve come to enjoy the habits of a certain human, no matter their foolishness…”

“Flattery, you must really want to know about what we did in the village…”

“Well, you seem to be spurning my other ideas…” Jack tapped pointedly on the omega’s hip. Rhys laughed softly, hand tucked besides his lips as he nuzzled his head underneath Jack’s bony chin. 

“Usually, we went to church on the first day of the week, but to commemorate the winter, whatever day the longest night fell upon, the entire village would gather together in congregation…the pastor would lead in the special service, and we would sit, hands clasped, reverent, not a sound besides his voice inside the walls and the whistling wind without them.” 

Jack blew air from between his lips.

“Sounds _dull_.”

Rhys giggled softly into his fingers. 

“It….it _was_ , it really was…but you can’t say that, no, you can’t make any noise at all, unless the pastor leads you in hymns…”

Jack grunted, shifting until Rhys lay more properly atop him, using the demon as a secondary couch. 

“ _That_ is what you wanted badly to share with me?”

“Well, it’s not _just_ that. In the home, things would be a little more…exciting. Cyrus and I would light the candles and ring the windows and door with twigs of holly, crisp of leaf and heavy with berry…If I had meat I would cook it over slow fire…oh the smell, Jack, the smell of meat after a long winter’s day and stiff service…”

Jack licked his lips playfully.

“You’ll make me hungry.”

“Kill me a hind, and I shall cook it for you…though I thought you disliked roasted meat.”

Jack chuffed, his ears twitching. 

“Now I must wash my fur and clean my lair. I may as well try cooked meat.”

“You are becoming _tame_ , dear master of the forest,” Rhys teased, poking Jack’s nose. The demon sniffed, wrinkling his nostrils.

“Only as much as you are becoming wild…”

“I do venture in the cold as if I am a hare full with winter coat.” Rhys resettled his head against Jack’s shoulder and slotted their legs together, cuddling closer. 

“…As we waited for dinner, I would often make candied mint leaves for Cyrus…mint survives in the garden, even during the winter…we would sit by the hearth, and I would just listen to him talk…”

“He’s a fascinating liltle kit, isn’t he?”

“He really is.” Rhys smiled fondly, combing his fingers through Jack’s sable fur. It was much silkier and smoother than it had been when Rhys had first laid with him. It used to be tangled and stuck with old blood and grime, but ever since Rhys had insisted Jack bathe when he grew dirty the demon had been much more vigilant about preventative grooming. The scent of blood only lingered on the demon’s fur, now, muted by dustings of musty cinnamon and pine. 

“We would say our nightly prayers, then go to bed…with the cold, I would usually sleep with my babe by my side, and even when Cyrus insisted he could sleep alone, I usually woke to find him laying at my chest…” Rhys touched above his heart, smiling fondly in memory. 

“…There was one more thing. But I’m…I’m not sure if you’d be interested in hearing about it.”

“One way to find out, honeycake.”

Rhys fidgeted softly in his rest, occupying his worry with twirling Jack’s fur into tighter knots. 

“I…some of the traditions…they revolved around you.”

Rhys swore Jack’s eyes flashed dark for a moment as he tilted his head to look at him.

“Really?”

“…Yes.” 

Rhys’ throat bobbed as he swallowed, propping himself up slightly as he rested a forearm against Jack’s chest. 

“I…it is no longer my belief, but the village lives in fear of y—…of the beast. They do not wish to move, as the founder of our village, it’s told, was led there by God himself, so they have no choice but to wallow in fear of the beast that lurked within the woods.”

Rhys knew that Jack knew about the villager’s superstition. When he himself had first ventured into the forest, first thrown his life and the life of his child across Jack’s claws, he had bared the same fear to the demon, resigned himself to living chained to this infernal being. He had changed in the months since he’d become Jack’s mate, but the villagers—clad in their black and white and walled in their stone houses—still held horror in their legend of the woods and its bestial king. 

“Every year, before the winter mass, a band of the bravest alphas would venture into the woods, deeper into the cover of trees and night until no light could shine through. There, they would retrieve a twisted piece of wood, and bring it back to the village before the beast or any of his damned slaves would prey upon them.”

“Is that why humans would come into my forest in the dead of winter?” Jack’s lips curled with amusement. “I would usually send packs of wolves or crows to chase them off…always found it strange they would travel so far in such fear for a _stick_.”

“It was considered a blessing for the coming year if they retrieved it…it would be hung on the door of the church in the town square, meant to stave off the beast’s evil once more…a symbol of the servants of God’s triumph over the will of darkness.”

“ _My_ …you humans sure do take everything _very_ seriously.”

“I’m sorry, do not be offended,” Rhys was quick to soothe the beast, to rest his hand against Jack’s cheek, “I was foolish, I was drawn in by the village, it was all I had known—“

“I do not blame you, rosebud,” Jack’s claw rested tenderly atop Rhys’ hand, encasing his fingers in assuring warmth. But solemnity still hung in Jack’s heavy brows, his fangs still poking, troubled, over his lower lip. 

“I have long expected such emotion from humans. They cloud their brains with folly and fear and never wish to see the truth.”

“…I…I am not like them, though I once was.” Rhys leaned in closer, nose nuzzling up against the beast’s jawline. “There…there may be some things I cannot help but remember about the village, but I am content to live here with you.”

“And I am the same, to have you here… _more_ than content, honeycake.” Jack brushed away the chestnut tresses falling against Rhys’ forehead as he kissed his forehead, some strands of hair sticking against the beast’s lips. He puffed his nose as the locks tickled it, making Rhys smile.

“Thank goodness…”

When Jack next tried to capture Rhys’ lips, the omega let him, leaning into his kisses as Jack’s hands grasped against his backside. Trepidation briefly twinged in his stomach—another relic of the past making his grip on Jack’s fur anxious, but after a moment’s breathing he relaxed and let the demon lift him up into the air. 

“Cyrus better be _sound_ asleep…” Rhys whispered as Jack carted him up the carved steps, the demon’s cloak fluttering off into stray feathers as he drew into the comforting dark of the bedroom. 

“Don’t you worry, little doe,” Jack chuckled, his breath warm and inviting as he laid the omega down, the door creaking shut behind them. Warm fur brushed against Rhys’ chest and back until he couldn’t tell which way he was lying, but when Jack’s hot tongue lapped against his ear and his claw gripped his thigh, position hardly mattered. 

* * *

Rhys woke late into the morning thanks to the pelt Jack had presumably tacked up over the window. He peeked out from underneath the skin, judging the time by the pale sun filtering through the low clouds.

He stretched out in the warm belly of blankets atop his bed, blushing at his own nakedness as he looked down on his body. Dragging one of the furs about him, he scrounged for his pants, finding them crumpled on the floor besides the straw mattress. 

Rhys frowned at the new nicks around the waistband as he tugged his pants on his legs, tying the cord about his hips. Soreness tickled up his spine as he swayed to his feet, lower body still slightly numbed with the ghosts of pleasure. 

The bites on his neck and collar stung, as if Jack’s teeth were still stuck in his flesh. He bared them without worryto the air, jewelry of bruises worn as a lover’s gift. 

Jack was nowhere to be found as Rhys trudged sleepily through the hall, the pelt wrapped ‘round his shoulders trailing soft upon the floor. 

The demon disappeared from time to time, roaming about his woods. Doing what, Rhys did not know—though he had grown to understand more about the demon in the past few months, there was still much he did not understand. He was still inhuman, still wrapped with an air of comprehending that escaped Rhys’ mortal mind. When Jack disappeared, Rhys busied himself about the lair, eventually rousing Cyrus and instructing him to clean his room and make the beds while Rhys prepared a reward in the form stewed apples from the jars he had preserved in the late autumn. The scent filled his lungs and spiced the lair from wall to wall, the comforting swell of fruit browning and bubbling in the buttered pan making the omega content.

The smells made him think of Christmas, of the wintertime customs he’d earlier described to his mate. The changes brought on by his new life rocked many of his old perceptions. Most, he was thankful for. Some, however, brought a tug of strange longing to his heart. Never did he think he would miss anything about the old village, but here he was, wishing he had at least saved some herb leaves or petals to candy before they were buried with snow. 

Cyrus, bless his heart, would be excited for any kind of treat, regardless of the tradition it carried. 

Rhys rapped the wooden spoon against the edge of the pan, shaking pulpy apple and scraps of tender peel off its end as he set the utensil aside and pulled the treat out from the fire. He divided it into threes, serving it amongst two earthenware bowls, saving the third and the remainder of the apples for when Jack would return. He had not yet gotten Jack to use the utensil he and Cyrus did, but the bowl itself was somewhat of a victory, even if the demon still ended up with sticky claws and apple stuck to his fur. 

Jack returned just as dusk begun to lay heathered purple upon the light outside, Rhys’ neck tingling moments before the door rustles with the demon’s voice. 

“Rhys, rosebud, come outside.”

Rhys crept towards the entrance of the lair, feeling the cold from under the doorway against his bare toes. 

“The night falls soon, Jack. It is not far?”

“It’s no farther than our threshold, honeycake.” Jack’s chuckle filtered from between the space of the door and the frame of the lair. Curious, Rhys cracked the door open further, Jack’s claw pushing it inwards and showing the omega what had been fixed there.

There, hung from a strip of leather and fixed by a long, black thorn, lay the same branch that Rhys had nearly picked up in the forest earlier. He reached out to touch it, his fingers hesitating for a moment as he quickly glanced at Jack, before the tips brushed against the wood. To his surprise the bark was warm and dry, as if it had spent the day lying by the hearth instead of out half-buried in the snow.  
****

As Rhys trailed his finger down a split cracked from the forked wood, that warmth suddenly bloomed to heat, and Rhys withdraws his hand with a gasp as if he’d stick it into the fire. Blood seems to spring from the wood and for a moment Rhys’ heart jumps with worry, but his finger is clean. The crack flourished with life before his very eyes, crimson blossoming through the wood like spring’s first buds bursting forth from the thawing ground. 

“Much better than a pilfered piece of dead wood, is it not?” Jack’s chest puffed out with pride, his fur rustling in a phantom breeze. Rhys watched, awed, as the branch continued to bloom along the cracked veins, red flowers bursting from crispy white stem as they wrapped the wood in a tender embrace. 

“I…I would have to say so, yes…” Rhys marveled at the sight. As he watched it bloom, he could feel the vibrant branch start to pulse in his hands, as if it were as alive as he or Jack.

“I’m not sure this will help you to keep away the beast but…perhaps…we can imbue it with new meaning.” Jack’s claws closed tenderly around Rhys’ fingers, their hands combined cradling the branch together. The omega rests back against his mate, joined together as if posed for a classical fresco.

The villagers back home would think of it as sin—to come together with the demon, to stain the stark symbol of the branch with such lurid flowers perverting its core. 

But the branch was beautiful and warm as the furred body behind him and the hands sliding around to his belly, and as it lit up their door with the inviting ornament of love, Rhys embraced it. 


End file.
